


Skeleton Dance

by ashurbadaktu



Series: Those Who Cannot Remember The Past [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:38:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashurbadaktu/pseuds/ashurbadaktu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Scott's father returns as part of the Alpha Pack, the pack and Beacon Hills at large are going to have to go through some changes to deal with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> betaed by the lovely Ony (thedisorderly)

_“If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.”  - George Bernard Shaw_

Scott was smarter than most people thought he was.

For one, he knew that the easiest way to carry someone was a fireman's carry: the person in question was draped over the other person's shoulders, distributing the weight so that they could carry the full weight of another body for a reasonable amount of time.  Stiles might know that it was no longer the preferred method for firefighters themselves because it put the injured person higher up and closer to the smoke, or that it was mostly used in combat, but Scott knew how to do it from watching Band of Brothers two summers ago and that was really the important thing because Derek was not going to be walking any time soon with those gashes in his legs and they needed to run.

Werewolf strength was very helpful when you were trying to hoist a somewhat-unconscious body onto your shoulders.

"Leaving so soon, Scott?  I was sort of hoping we'd have some time to chat."

Scott ignored him.

"You know he'll be all right.  He'll heal, if… not as quickly as he could with a decent pack.  From what I've heard, though, that's his fault.  Not mine."

Scott pushed up from the ground, Derek muttering something in his ear that sounded disturbingly thankful, and faced his father.

"I don't 'chat' with bullies."  He shifted Derek and widened his stance a little for balance.  The wound in Derek's leg bled on his shirt a little and it made him angry; he and Derek didn't agree on much, but he didn't want to see the other werewolf like this.  "God, Dad, you didn't have to do this to him."

"He didn't want to tell me what I wanted to know.  I had a feeling you'd be just as difficult, but I actually  _care_ about you."

"Thanks, Dad.  Good to know."

"You're angry with me."

"You're not exactly my favorite person.  This" he tilted his head to Derek "totally didn't help."

"Well, I hope you'll give me another chance, son.  There's a few things about your-- _our_ family history that I've never gotten to clear up.  To be honest, I'd given up hope that you'd be ready to hear them."

Scott felt his hands shift into claws and his eyes shifted wildly between gold and their usual brown.  This whole thing had everything inside of him twisting in knots, old memories and things he'd thought were well in the past bubbling up inside of him and hurting in the worst kind of way.  But that wasn't important right now.  Right now, he needed to get away, get Derek somewhere safe and regroup with the others.  He wasn't sure how many other werewolves were inside the house or even why they were here in Beacon Hills, but he had a feeling he wasn't going to like any of the answers.  Regardless, he was out-numbered and his only possible 'ally' was flopped on his shoulders.  Not exactly a good position to be in.

"Look, I can't--" he adjusted Derek again and twitched his shoulder up to stop Derek from speaking, since he was reasonably sure that the other werewolf was going to be inflammatory and that was the last thing in a series of last things that Scott needed right now.  "Just-just let me get him somewhere and… and we can talk.  All right?"

His father eyed him curiously, something in the older man's face shifting in ways that Scott wasn't sure how to read.  The werewolf features made it harder.  Once upon a time, knowing what mood his father was in had been necessary for survival in the McCall household.  Almost as necessary as knowing the right things to say to defuse him. Scott hoped he was still somewhat good at the second part.  

"All right," Harold agreed, spreading his hands.  "When would you like to talk?"

"I'll text you," Scott answered immediately.  It was a calculated reference: his father was still probably angry that he hadn't returned the text messages from a couple of weeks ago, but he could somewhat defuse that anger by making it clear he'd read them and by choosing the channel his father had tried, it was giving the old man a victory, however small.  If he knew anything about his father, it was that he liked victories.  Scott watched as he considered it and breathed out in relief when he got a nod.

"Tonight."

"I'll text you tonight."

"See that you do, son."

Scott didn't move for a second, waiting for the moment's tension to ease before taking his first step back.  Then another.  Finally, he broke eye contact with his father, turned, and ran.  He hardly looked where he was going, didn't even know for certain that he was going in the right direction.  He just… ran and he didn't stop running until he was out of the woods, his lungs burning and his muscles shaking from-- from--

From carrying Derek.  That was it.

He paused at the edge of the trees to lean against one of them as he shifted his weight to reach into his pocket.  A second later, he held up his phone to Derek.

"Peter has a phone, right?"

Derek was a little more conscious (which Scott could tell because he looked a hell of a lot grumpier) and he managed a nod.

"Text him to pick us up?  I mean, I didn't see your car there."

Another nod, this one with a bit more strength behind it.

"Can you walk yet?"

"No," came out, gravely and unsure and, as per usual, annoyed.  Scott was almost amused at how relieved he was to hear the usual grumble in Derek's voice, "I think… I think it'll open the wounds."

Scott sighed, because that kind of sucked since Derek was heavy, but he couldn't exactly fault the guy.  After all, it was his father who'd ripped him up.  If nothing else, he could carry him.  Especially since that was better than answering questions.

"Get anything back?" he asked then as he started pushing away from the tree to get near the road.

"They're on the way," Derek told him before dangling the phone out for Scott to take.  Remembering what Derek had done with it the last time he was aggravated, he snatched it up and stuck it in his pocket.

"Good.  I'm gonna start walking down the road.  Try and get as far away as I can."

"From your _father_?" and there was what he'd been waiting for, the accusation clear in Derek's tone.  He breathed in deep and took a few more steps since he didn't know what to say back to that.  Yeah, from his father.  From his werewolf father.  What in the hell.

"When were you going to tell me about him, Scott?  When were you going to mention that oh, yeah, werewolves?  My _father's_ a werewolf!  And did I mention he was an Alpha?  But no, not just an Alpha but one of the _Alpha pack_."

Scott couldn't breathe, and he knew the tightness in his chest was totally psychosomatic.  It wasn't real.  He could breathe, he could walk, he could keep going.  He could.  Except that nothing made sense and the world was spinning and he didn't know what to do.  His father was a werewolf, his father was an Alpha, and he didn't know what he was going to do.

"What?" Derek snapped, almost setting him off-balance with his anger.  He was going to launch into another tirade, but Scott stopped him short.

"I don't _know_!  I don't know, okay?  I  _didn't_  know my dad was a werewolf and I  _don't_  know what he's doing here and I don't know--" Scott breathed in, trying to get his bearings.  It'd be easier if Derek wasn't over his shoulder, if he didn't already feel like there was a giant weight bearing down on him.  He didn't know.  He didn't know anything.  

Derek's voice was just a little softer when he spoke again, but no less angry.

"You're going to have to figure it out, Scott.  Especially if we're all going to survive this.  Another thing you don't know is the kind of things I've heard about this pack.  And trust me.  You don't want to know."

Scott didn't know what to say about that, didn't know what to say about anything, so he was actually incredibly relieved to look up from the ground to see Peter and Isaac slowing the car to a stop beside them on the road.  Peter rolled the window down and gave them both an appraising look.  From the quirk of his lips, the appraisal wasn't a very positive one.

"So, we seem to have missed a party."

Scott was so not in the mood for Peter's crap, but he wasn't about to respond.  Derek wasn't either, but he obviously decided that he would be better served by conserving his strength, which Scott was really really grateful for.  Isaac, thankfully, scrambled out of the car and helped to pull Derek off of Scott's shoulders to put him in the car.  Scott breathed out long and low as soon as Derek was off of him and ran a hand through his hair as Isaac closed the door after him.

"Scott?  You, uh, you okay?"

Scott shook his head firmly, trying not to let himself fall into a panic about everything now that the immediate danger was over.  He looked up at Isaac and got some comfort that the other werewolf seemed worried about him, but he knew he couldn't freeze up.  He couldn't freak out. They had to get Derek somewhere safe and he had to get back home and--

Mom.  His mom.  He didn't even know what to think right now but he wanted to see his Mom and warn her because he had no idea what his father might be planning and at the same time, he had to wonder, had to know if she'd known and if she did--

Isaac's hand on his shoulder shook him out of his thoughts and the crooked smile he got made him smile back almost on reflex.  

"You aiming to get in the car, Scott?"

Get in the car.  That was simple and easy and doable.  He could get in the car.

"Yeah.  Yeah, I'll--"

He glanced at the car, then tilted his head to get a look at Derek.  Derek was taking up most of the back seat, but he wasn't laying down, exactly.  His head was high enough that Scott could see the other werewolf glaring at him hard enough that Scott was pretty sure he was trying to develop wolf laser vision.

"Hey Isaac?  You mind if I take shotgun?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it was so short ^_^; next chapter will be out soon! also, another piece of the 'puzzle', a fic set in the past, should be out sometime soon as well


	2. Chapter 2

Normally, he would have told them to head straight for the veterinary clinic so that Dr. Deaton could take care of Derek, but right now Scott needed to talk to his mother and it wasn't as if she didn't know how to clean out a wound. Scott had hoped to introduce her to the strange world he'd fallen into last winter a bit more gently, but there just wasn't the time right now.

And for all he knew, she didn't need an introduction so much as a refresher course.

He knew that his mother was home from the car in the driveway, but he really really hoped she wasn't asleep; his mom wasn't the best when she first woke up and he really needed her functional for a few reasons. He unlocked the front door with his key and held the door open for Peter and Isaac to help Derek hobble through. Derek shot him a look as he went by, but Scott wasn't exactly cowed by it for the moment for obvious reasons. 

He was, however, startled half out of his skin by his best friend, who popped up from the couch like an errant partygoer a few months late with his 'surprise'.

"DUDE, what the hell?"

"'Dude, what the hell' you!" Stiles snapped, glancing over at Derek, "and what the hell is that? ...I didn't even know he knew how to use front doors."

Peter leaned out from behind his nephew to raise an eyebrow as if to note his surprise at the other boy's continued existence and Stiles nearly fell over himself jumping back. Isaac just sighed and tried to fix the pillows so Derek could lay back easily.

"Okay, I knew he was back but now comes the question of WHAT IS HE DOING IN YOUR HOUSE? What are any of them doing in your house? You're crossing the streams here, man."

Scott winced, both at what Stiles was saying and at the volume he was saying it at, and held up his hands in a silent request for a ceasefire. Stiles didn't say anymore, but he shifted on his feet anxiously as he waited for Scott to explain.

"I know I was really short with my text message--"

"Aggravatingly short--"

"But I really don't even know what to say because--"

"Because?"

"Because the Alpha pack is here."

Stiles blinked, taking a moment to process the information before shaking his head.

"Still not getting why that means--"

"And my dad is one of the Alphas."

For once, Stiles was both absolutely still and absolutely silent. There was just... nothing to say to that. What _could_ you say to that? His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again before shutting with a pop as he blinked very very slowly. He drew in a breath to try and get something out, but Peter beat him to the punch.

"You know, I almost should have expected that."

The chorus of "WHAT?" actually made Derek flinch against one of the pillows. Not only that, but there was a thump from upstairs that Scott knew was his mother. One look at Stiles said that he knew the same thing and the both of them shared a moment of silent communication on what to do that ended with 'and into the breach we go'. At least from Stiles's side. Scott's was closer to 'God, help me'.

Isaac sidled up against Scott's side and leaned down with a tilt of his head.

"You sure about this?" he asked quietly, his eyes wandering from Derek to Peter and back to Scott. Scott swallowed and nodded. This wasn't going to be pleasant, but it definitely wasn't optional. Not with his dad back. That didn't mean he didn't wince when he heard his mother.

"Scott?" drifted down from the top of the stairs, "What was that?"

He scrubbed his face with his hand once before he managed to get the words out.

"It's me, Mom. And, uh… there's some people you should probably meet! Here. Down here." There was another swallow as he heard her foot on the top step. "And bring the first aid box?"

"The first aid--" he heard her gasp and then the scrambled footsteps of his mother heading for her bathroom where she kept the heavy duty first aid box of supplies that she had from the hospital. There was one there and one in her car and if he hadn't been panicking, he would have thought to bring the other one in but his brain still wasn't quite working right.

"I'm okay!" he shouted up at her, hoping to settle her a little as the rapid beats of her heart nearly drowned out everything else. He needed her as calm as possible when she got to the living room, which was why he added. "The first aid's for someone else."

"Someone--who? Is Stiles all right? Is it-- who is it?" But the drumroll of her footsteps down the stairs meant that she'd see before he could explain. He stepped back so that she wouldn't run into him since he'd been hanging in the entryway to the living room and sent up a silent prayer for help. There was no way this could go well, so 'help' was about as much as he could ask for.

The resultant stand off between the pack and his mother couldn't have been more awkward. His mother, first aid box hoisted in front of her, taking in the veritable crowd in her living room, and the werewolves all staring back like they were expecting something to explode. Scott wasn't sure what to say or what to do until Peter, of all people, stood up and offered a nod of greeting.

"Melissa."

"Parker?"

Scott and Stiles shared a look which said, in no uncertain terms, that they both got the terrible comic book reference the evil murderous former-alpha werewolf had made _and_ didn't know whether to snicker about it or feel oddly more comfortable with him for it. Silent best friend communication had better things to work on, though, as Peter stepped closer.

"Well, this is going to be slightly awkward, because I'm afraid that's not my name."

She opened her mouth to ask what it _was_ , then, but her eyes caught on Derek on the couch at that moment and she ran past Peter to drop to her knees beside Derek. The younger werewolf startled back a little at the clamor, but let her hand shift his position on the couch as she started moving the cloth away from the wounds.

" _Ay Dios mío_ , Scott. Why isn't he in a hospital? Has he lost consciousness at any point? What's his name?"

Scott took a few steps towards his mother before answering, figuring he'd better be close if she needed him to do something to help. Or… anything else. Right now, he wasn't putting anything past his luck.

"His name's Derek. And he's like me, Mom. He's… he's a werewolf."

To her credit, she only paused for a moment in her work when the word was spoken, eyes flicking up to look at Derek's face as if to check for fangs and fur before she continued to rip at his shirt. A breath and a swallow later, she spoke again.

"So… no hospitals?"

"Yeah, it's… not really an option."

Scott felt his chest constrict a little as he realized that his mother was looking anywhere but at him, but he tried to tell himself that she was just concentrating on her work. He opened his mouth again to explain, but Peter beat him to it.

"Not to worry, Melissa. My nephew will heal, though far more slowly than he would normally. Cleaning the wounds--"

He didn't get to continue whatever diatribe on the benefits of being a werewolf that he had started, however, as she interrupted him with a growl of her own. It wasn't the growl of a werewolf, but there was no doubting that she was pissed.

"Your nephew? Where were you then? How'd he get like this? He's hardly older than my _son_ , Parker… or _whatever_ the hell your name really is!" She looked up, dark eyes flashing with nothing but human rage. "If this is some kind of werewolf hazing ritual or something--"

"Nothing of the sort."

"Mom, there's a lot to explain--"

"Yes, Scott," and now she was focused on him and he felt a foot tall, "there is a _lot_ to explain, so please, get to it while I get him cleaned out."

Scott shot a look at Stiles then, since Stiles was always better than him at this kind of thing. After an audible gulp and a moment of rapid processing, Stiles finally got something out.

"Mr. McCall did it."

And the room went completely still. Even Isaac, who'd been lurking around the edges of the room, paused in his perusal of the McCall's interior decor and didn't dare move a muscle. Scott's eyes went wide and he looked over at his friend incredulously because of all the things for him to start with, that was not the one he'd expected. Or wanted. Or EVER imagined he'd go with. What the hell was he supposed to say now?

"That's not funny, Stiles."

Scott looked from his mother to Stiles and back before he managed to speak himself.

"He's not kidding, Mom. I-- I saw it. I saw Dad. He's--" Scott swallowed, "he's one too, Mom. He's a werewolf. He's--"

Scott stopped talking when he saw it. Melissa's hands never stopped working on Derek, but her son watched carefully and he could see it. He could see her hands shaking ever so slightly as she pulled out the alcohol and the swabs and the tweezers. Derek, who was starting to be able to focus, watched her as well and almost looked… not comfortable, but oddly content. Scott wasn't sure why or how, but he almost looked at ease as she doused the swabs in the disinfectant and reached forward with the tweezers. 

Then he was wincing at the burn.

His mother didn't say anything. She looked almost mechanical, swabbing then peering and occasionally tugging out some small bit of leaf or dirt from the mess that made up Derek's side. Scott and Stiles shared another look before Scott went around the room, trying to figure out something to say. Peter was keeping quiet for some reason, which he was thankful for, and Isaac seemed content to let everyone else work things out before he spoke. Derek was hissing in pain even though he still had that weird look in his eyes, and his mother--

"Mom?"

Melissa McCall breathed in deep once, twice, then finally lowered her hands away from Derek's wound. After a moment that seemed to last for an eternity, she looked up at Scott. He'd expected to see worry and confusion and even the panic that was there, but the guilt was the one that confused him. A puff of air, then her lips pressed into a tight line as she looked over her son for something. At first, he thought it might be injuries. That would make sense. Then, when she kept looking, he figured it was something else, something he couldn't even begin to figure out.

"That's what I was afraid of."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks oldshuck for looking it over!

Scott didn't even know what to say to that, which was becoming a disturbing trend for the day.  Stiles, proving himself the best friend a guy could ever want, picked up the slack and stepped forward as she leaned in to start working on Derek again, but even Derek was staring at her.

"Uh, Mrs. McCall?  What do you mean, that's what you were afraid of?  Like… were you afraid that your husband had been turned into a werewolf sometime since your divorce or--"

Peter straightened his back and leaned forward on the smaller coach, drawing everyone's eyes before he spoke.

"Harold McCall has been a werewolf since he was born," he said with some authority.  "Being an alpha is certainly new, but he was always a werewolf."

Scott caught on that piece of information and tried to blunder through the awkwardness as he stared at his mother.  His father was a werewolf?  Had always been a werewolf?  What did that mean?  Did that change anything?   _Should_  it change anything?  Trying to think of his father through the filter of 'werewolf' could make a lot of things different, but some things would stay the same. 

He'd still terrified Scott, blamed him for his disability, insulted and shamed a small child for things he couldn't control.  He'd still nearly killed his own son trying to 'ween' him off of his inhaler.  And when it came right down to it, he'd still left.

_And you'd still be acing chemistry if it weren't for the werewolf stuff, right?_

His mother wasn't looking at him, didn't seem to be able to look at him, but he didn't want to assume anything because it seemed like all the things he'd assumed, over years and months, were wrong.    And… wait, how did Peter know?  

"I didn't know," Melissa said like a confession, turning to Scott after what seemed like forever, "not… for certain.  Not really.  He never told me what it was, exactly.  Never.  Not even after you were born, but... I'm not blind.  Sometimes, the light would hit his eyes a certain way.  And when he got hurt or angry, his nails…"

She looked down at her hand and it was so simple; Scott found the dark mark of a former cut easily enough now that he knew to look for it.  He supposed that he'd seen it at some other point, that it had just faded into the background reality of his mother and how she looked, but now it seemed so clear, so easy.  

Melissa's hand closed then, fingers curling into a tight fist as her head lifted.  Scott was expecting her to look at him, but her eyes fell surprisingly enough on Peter of all people.  Her words weren't for him, though, even if he looked  _very_  uncomfortable beneath her gaze.

"I didn't know what it was.  But when I saw you in the sheriff's station," she said finally, her voice so soft that the words seemed like he might be hallucinating them, "that's all that I could think about.  Those eyes and the claws--"

Scott couldn't help but flash back to that moment, to the look of absolute horror on her face.  When he thought about it, really thought about her face and the way she'd acted, everything fell into place.  His mother hadn't recoiled from the wolf; she'd recoiled from the sight of Scott looking  _every bit his father's son_.  And he knew that had to have been a terrifying vision for more than one reason.

It made him feel a little sick, honestly.

Stiles had clearly done the math as well as he held in a gasp rather ineffectually and clenched a hand in Isaac's sweatshirt to the werewolf's mild irritation.  Isaac shook him off with a glare and turned his attention to Scott before asking silently with his eyes if he was okay.  Ignoring the churning in his stomach, Scott gave a distracted nod, obviously a lie, but Isaac didn't call him on it.  He didn't know the whole story, but he'd already been putting some of the pieces together and the picture was not pretty.  It was far too familiar to be pretty.

"You know, this is all very awkward," Peter pointed out, his voice tired and a bit long-suffering "but we should probably focus on what's important.  Namely, what the Alpha pack wants and how to survive it."

Derek shifted on the couch, sitting up somewhat so he could speak.  Melissa gave him a Look about it which he oddly humored by turning his hips so she could keep working, but he already looked a lot better than he had.  For one thing, he was no longer as pale as a sheet.

"They came looking for the only Alpha in the area," Derek said with a soft grunt of pain as Melissa swabbed at the worst of the wound, "which... is me."  He breathed in a few times before glancing over at Scott.  "But your dad is the one who questioned me.  He wanted to know if I'd been the one to bite you."

"Were you?" Melissa's hands were steady and nothing changed as she worked, but the barely-contained emotion in her voice was unmistakable.  She might not have known everything about her son's strange new life, but she knew that it was a hell of a lot more dangerous than his old life had been regardless of any perks it might have brought with it.

Derek shook his head.

"No," and he said it firmly, eyes roaming the room before settling on Scott... then Melissa, "I wasn't."

"Not that you held up on your end of the deal trying to cure him," Stiles muttered 'helpfully'.  Derek grunted, almost embarrassed for being caught out on the fact  _but not quite_ , and Scott watched his mother's eyes widen before her jaw set firmly into a barely-contained scowl.  

Scott was  _not_  looking forward to that coming up again any time soon and threw Stiles a look.  Stiles spread his hands helplessly.  'Just slipped out' was the bro-speak reply.  Scott answered that with a roll of his eyes because he didn't believe that for a second.

"So..." Stiles apologized in his own way by urging Derek to continue.

"So," Derek growled, annoyed at the other boy, "he asked me if I'd been the one to bite his son.  I said no.  He asked who had."  No one looked at Peter.  "When I wouldn't say, he and a couple of the others decided to 'encourage' me to be more helpful.  The leader was just calling them off when you got there."

"So my dad's not the leader?"

Derek shook his head.

"From what I heard, he's only been an alpha a little longer than I have.  The others have been together for a while, though." Derek shook his head again, adjusting himself as Melissa pulled away from the wound.  His skin was starting to knit together since it was clean and her work was increasingly unnecessary.  She looked up at the young man before glancing over to Stiles.

"Get him one of Scott's shirts, Stiles?"

Stiles, who was practically ecstatic at the idea of getting out of the deeply uncomfortable room, bounced and zipped out of the room.  Isaac took the opportunity now that Stiles was out of the way to duck in and lean against the back of the couch, his hand resting lightly near Derek in support.  

"The leader is a woman, darker-skinned.  Her accent was... different.  Kind of... French?"

"Creole?" Isaac offered, desperate to be helpful, but Derek shook his head.

"Nothing I was familiar with," he admitted with a slight wince, "She... didn't want me killed, but she didn't mind if they ripped me up a little."

"Or a lot," Melissa noted as she stood and rubbed at her knees, and Scott could hear the fear in her voice.  It wasn't for Derek.  When she stood up straight, her eyes flicked around the room before she turned to her son.  Scott wasn't sure what she wanted, or what he could offer, but he stepped forwards towards her and she wrapped her arms around him tightly.  He could remember the last time she'd hugged him like that.

It was just after he'd come out of the hospital.  The time he'd almost died.  She was hugging him tightly because she needed to know he was solid, there.  Okay.  If he was honest with himself, the force of her arms around him was just as comforting.  

She was his mom and she loved him.  She was solid.  There.  Okay.

The moment was broken soon enough as Stiles trotted back down the stairs and tossed the t-shirt to Derek.  He threw it over his shoulders as Melissa stepped away from her son and walked around behind the couch to regard the three werewolves.  Derek and Isaac turned to watch her.

"So... where does that leave us all, exactly?" she asked.

No one said anything for a moment.

"Doomed?" Stiles offered, which got a withering glance from both McCalls present; Derek went with a growl.  

"Let's hope not," Scott said with a deep sigh and a shake of his head.  "Though, hey, they didn't want to  _kill_  Derek."

"Yet," Stiles pointed out with a crooked smile, "just give them time."

Derek started growling again, but Melissa made a disapproving noise of her own.

"Let's stay on track," and her tone brooked no argument.  "What do we  _think_  they want, other than to find out about my son, and what do we need to work on right now to keep everyone safe?"

"Well... do you guys have anywhere else to stay?" Scott asked carefully, unsure if it was a stupid question or not.  He knew that they'd been staying at the abandoned train station for a while, but he wasn't sure if they'd returned there after everything that'd happened and given Peter's return.  Derek had been in the Hale house before that, but it was pretty obviously off limits for the moment.

Derek looked from his uncle to Isaac before letting out a huff and shaking his head.  Melissa nodded, as if she'd thought as much, before breathing in and out.

"We've got extra rooms.  And if you agree to a few ground rules..." she started walking back around the couch, "I would be willing to let all three of you stay at the house.  There's just... one thing we need to clear up first."

Derek looked unhappy (like always) but a glance around the room and his depleted pack said that he didn't have much reason to object.  Or really anything like the luxury to.  After all, it wasn't as if he had a terrible lot of options considering the situation.

He was about to agree when Scott saw Derek dodge back, flying towards Isaac.  Beside him, Stiles jumped away as the room went a little dimmer due to the loss of one of the lamps.  Or rather, the re-purposing of.   

Because Peter had been knocked off the couch by his mother, who was still wielding the solid ceramic of the lamp like a baseball bat as she glared down at the groaning (and bleeding) elder werewolf.  Scott, Derek, Stiles, and Isaac all stared at Scott's mother as she stalked around the rest of the couch and lifted the lamp again, her breath puffing out in rage. 

"Namely, I want to know why you decided to bite my  _son_ ,  _ **Peter**_  and what the  _hell_  you think you're playing at!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I swear, I'll stop ending on cliffhangers
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Eventually.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the LONG wait on this. Hit a bit of a block on something silly. No worries! Plot will continue! I swear I know the way to the end of this fic. *g*

Peter was in too much pain to growl as he curled into a ball on the floor. Melissa, however, was not satisfied. She shoved him with her foot and waved the lamp over him as menacingly as she could.

"You know, it took me a few minutes. It took me a few minutes to figure out who you could be even when last I heard, you were comatose in a _home_ and then it all clicked. Knowing about Harry. Your nephew. Your face. It's been, God," she scrubbed at her face, body rocking back and forth in wariness and something more as she watched him on the ground, "you stopped talking to me in _high school_. But I remembered your face."

Derek looked like he wanted to do something, step in somewhere, but Scott gave him a warning look that actually had him leaning away from the pair. The boy had been angry about Deaton, he'd defended Jackson because it was the right thing to do, but neither of them were anything on his mother. Not for the first time, Derek was hit with what a loss it was that Scott wouldn't join his pack. Stiles, of course, ruined the moment with a squeak.

"You knew him in _high school_?'

Melissa looked up, somewhat tired and more than a little frustrated.

"Yes, Stiles. We went to school together. Me, him," he got another shove with her foot, "and Harry."

"Yes," Peter agreed with a slight whine, his hand at the back of his head, "we did, yes, we did. So... with that in mind, can I get up without you hitting me again?"

But her foot stayed firmly on his hip, pinning him unless he wanted to take offensive measures, which didn't seem likely. Scott wasn't sure if it was the residual weakness from his return that Derek had mentioned or something else.

"I don't know, Peter," and growled out, waving the lamp again, "you still haven't answered my question."

"That's cause he doesn't have an answer, Mom," Scott finally said, not exactly worried about Peter's safety so much as well aware that the longer this went on, the easier it would be for her to get hurt. "He was just... kinda nuts that night."

"Yeah," Stiles chimed in, "he was, like, bug nuts. Total whack job. Which, you know, not a _huge_ change..."

Melissa nodded to her son, then to his friend, before pointing the lamp squarely down at Peter. 

"I don't care what you told the boys. I want the answer from you, Peter. _Why Scott_?"

Peter looked up at her, his eyes trying to meet hers but there was no meeting. He was looking for something and she wouldn't give it, not one inch. His offer was met with nothing but daggers and the sway of the lamp. The room was silent while everyone waited for Peter's response until he closed his eyes and let his head sink back against the carpet.

"When I smelled him. You. Harry." Peter swallowed hard enough that everyone, werewolves and humans, could hear it. "I…I just--"

But Melissa was done, her head shaking and the lamp lowering back to the table. Her eyes turned to her son, who was staring with wide eyes down at the werewolf on the ground. He'd thought-- he'd always thought it that it had been random, just some crappy twist of fate which had made him a werewolf. But now, with his dad and what Peter had said, it felt more and more like he'd _always_ been on the path to becoming one. It was inescapable. Fate.

Scott glanced over from his mother to Stiles, to see what his best friend thought about it, and he was seriously surprised to see that Stiles was glaring down at Peter with almost as much heat as his mother had had. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he also wasn't sure that Stiles would want to explain. One of those things to ask him when he got into the whiskey again, then. 

Isaac, more than likely just to get things moving forward again, reached over and hauled Peter back to his feet before depositing him on the couch. He wasn't gentle, though. Derek, of all people, glared at Peter sideways and the older werewolf did his best to curl up to look small and harmless. It didn't work, but everyone sort of appreciated it in the awkward silence as Melissa walked back over to her son and wrapped her arms around him. Scott winced. He knew that hug.

It was the same hug he'd gotten after his parents were done shouting at each other. The one he'd gotten after the divorce was final. When he'd woken up in the hospital to find out his father was gone.

 _This is all my fault,_ it said, _and I can never say sorry enough._

He was old enough now, though, to shake his head and hug her back, tell her in the same unspoken words that it _wasn't_ and even then, he didn't care. He loved her. What was done was done, and if being her son meant he was going to be a werewolf... fine. So be it. Now they just had to figure out what to do. Melissa accepted that with a proud smile and a kiss to his shoulder before turning to the rest of them.

"The offer still stands, even for you, Peter," and her voice only dipped down a little in disapproval at his name, "though if you're going to stay here, there will be chipping in. You eat food, you add food. You use something, you clean it."

Her finger raised directly as Stiles, whose mouth was open in the beginning of a question.

"You, Stiles, are going to call your father and tell him to come over here so _we_ can get an explanation of everything that's happened, complete with _all_ the details, before we plan any further." Melissa's hand went through her hair. "While I call in for work today for the first time in months and hope they can find someone to cover my shift. Scott?"

Her son lifted his head immediately.

"Can you go find some blankets and see if the old air mattresses still work?"

"Sure, Mom," because doing things was preferable to sitting awkwardly in the living room with everything that he'd just learned swirling around in his brain. He was actually considering just Not Thinking for about a year after this all got done with. Maybe after so long, it would hurt less.

Derek finally seemed to drop out of his stupor as Stiles started dialing and Scott headed for the stairs. "Wait a minute!"

Everyone paused and looked at him.

"Involving the sheriff is not an option. Involving _any_ of you is-- you're not pack. This doesn't have anything to do with you."

Scott was about to say something, but his mother beat him to it.

"Mr. Hale… Derek," she said, leaning down to meet him eye to eye. "My ex-husband is a part of this. My son has apparently _been_ a part of this. And I don't know how you ever spent more than five minutes with Scott without realizing that where he goes, Stiles goes. It's a natural law."

Scott rolled his eyes as his best friend looked proud about that.

"We're involved. We should have _always_ been involved. And quite frankly, there's no way you're getting me _uninvolved_. So…" she looked over at Isaac then, "Isaac, isn't it? Why don't you get Derek some water since he probably needs it after that injury. Derek, you settle on the couch while Scott gets the rooms set up as best we can and Peter?"

He lifted his head, almost eager. It made her eyes go flat.

"Don't go anywhere. And by anywhere, I mean _anywhere_."

Peter's shoulders dropped and whatever reply he had been planning on was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell, a sound which had everyone sitting up and looking a little worried. After all, Scott's father had said that he'd wait until he got a text message that night, but that didn't mean he'd actually _do_ so. The younger ones other than Scott might not have known Harold McCall or how he behaved, but Peter and Melissa were well aware. Peter's eyes again went to Melissa, who turned instead to her son as they both tried to speak at once.

"I should--"

"Scott, I'll--"

Matching nervous laughter had them smiling at each other before Scott actually took the steps towards the door.

"It's safest if I do it. Really, Mom. Please."

Melissa swallowed and finally gave him an anxious nod, obviously unhappy with this plan but when it came right down to it, it was a better idea than having her do it. She might have been his mother and she might have been willing to hit a werewolf on the head with a lamp, but she knew she'd probably freeze at seeing her ex-husband and right now, there just wasn't any room for error. 

Scott gave her a nod in return and gestured for Stiles to back up a little, which he did, as he went to the door. A glance through the peephole, though, had him giving the all clear and a sigh of relief before he opened the door.

"Scott," was the greeting he got from both of them. There, on the porch, Dr. Deaton and Sheriff Stilinski had apparently been engaging in the standard pleasantries. The sight of Scott relieved the first and brought an expression of exasperation to the second.

"I was just coming by to see how everything was going," Deaton admitted with a knowing glance at Scott before bowing to the sheriff's continuation.

"And I'm here because apparently my son wants to tell me something very important." His gaze was _very_ firmly on Scott. "Do you know what all this is about?"

Scott glanced at Dr. Deaton, then at his best friend's father and the conflicted expression on his face, before gesturing for them to come in.

"Can I explain inside?" he asked, ushering them as quickly as possible. Deaton seemed content to move quickly into the house as he passed Scott a look which said they needed to talk, but the sheriff appeared a little troubled still. He opened his mouth to say something before he noticed Melissa standing in the entryway, a hopeful little smile on her face.

"I asked him to call you, Sheriff. There's… quite a lot that we all have to talk about, I think."

The father's mouth shut very similarly to his son's before he gave a tired smile and made his way in as he'd been asked. Scott gave a quick look out and a short sniff before closing the door behind them, one hand twisting the lock closed hard enough to strain the metal. Stiles noticed and put a hand on his best friend's shoulder, patting it twice before tilting his head to the kitchen where Melissa was leading them, well away from Derek and the others for the moment. Scott had never been so thankful for the high cushions on their couch.

"Tonight's kinda shaping up to be a war council."

Scott glanced over into the kitchen where his mother was doing the usual pleasantries with the other two adults. It made him sigh just a little; things were definitely very much out of his hands at this point. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, honestly. On the one hand, he was glad. On the other, it felt… well, a little uncomfortable. His mom had reacted so badly to him wolfing out in the prison and now she was clocking Peter with a lamp and calling a meeting of all concerned parties over a new werewolf pack that involved his father. Everything was changing again. 

Stiles's hand on his shoulder squeezed just once and he did his best to shake it off. Breathe.

"Yeah, kinda," he agreed, a moment too late for the other boy not to eye him curiously. Stiles always knew when things were bothering him, but they just didn't have the time right now. Maybe sometime next century when something wasn't actively trying to kill everyone. Assuming he lived through this.

"Well, look at it this way: the good part is that now, I don't have to stretch my already very elastic relationship with the truth on a regular basis."

Scott nodded, but he couldn't help but voice his thoughts.

"The bad part, though? Is that it kind of means this is war."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...see, no cliffhangers!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The council begins...

Scott and Stiles made their way to the kitchen as Melissa started pouring the coffee into cups for their guests. Scott could tell that his mother was nervous, but at the same time, she was doing her best to appear as calm as a cucumber. Oddly enough, he was pretty sure the nerves had more to do with hosting for other adults than it did for what was about to happen; his mother was best while under pressure, but like him, always felt unprepared for the little things.

"Now, Sheriff, there's someone in the living room that we're going to talk some things over with and it's going to sound crazy. I mean... really really crazy. But I need you to trust me, and our sons, and..." she quirked her lips to one side as she tried to think of a third thing before giving up. After a second, she nodded to Deaton. "And Dr. Deaton here. As I've heard he's somewhat familiar with... this kind of thing."

"Somewhat, yes," Deaton admitted with a soft shrug of his shoulders. His hands spread. "I'm... not as active in that particular branch of my field as I used to be, but I haven't forgotten the important parts."

The sheriff looked between Melissa and Deaton before turning his attention on Melissa. He had a decent working relationship with the veterinarian, but that was nothing on the unspoken pact of trust that existed between the parents of two teenagers that practically lived in each other's pockets. Unsworn, it was nonetheless made sacred by the friendship between their children and the knowledge that what affected one would more than likely affect the other. 

"Is this about Harry? Is he back in town again?"

Melissa actually winced at that, as much from the unexpected accuracy of his guess as from how incomplete that particular picture was at the moment. She glanced at her son, the part of her that was scared and unused to this strange world of werewolves and lizard monsters wishing that someone else could do this, but she steeled herself and straightened her back. She was the mother. She was the adult. And she was the one who was going to have to convince him.

"Yes," she said after a tense minute, "Harry is back in town again. That's... that's just the beginning of it, though."

"You mean he's threatened you? He's giving Scott trouble? Melissa, please, tell me... what's going on?" The Sheriff looked equal parts angry and irritated, and his feet shifted on the ground as if he wanted to get up and toss Harry McCall into a jail cell right then and there. He didn't move, though.

"I'm trying, John. I am... I am trying, but it's hard to figure out how to start explaining. How about... how about you both come to the living room with me and we can talk there? There's someone who needs to be a part of this discussion."

The Sheriff went stock still.

"He's not--"

She immediately shook her head.

"No, no, he's not... he's not welcome in this house. Harry's not here, no. Just... follow me, please."

Grasping the mug of coffee tightly between her fingers, she led the way to the living room where Peter, Isaac, and Derek were all sitting up again, looking nervously between each other as if trying to have a silent conversation. It wasn't going well and the appearance of Deaton and the sheriff did nothing to make things any more comfortable. Derek shifted up to try and stand, pulling something with a hiss before settling back on the couch. The red-tinged swabs and first aid equipment explained why to the new arrivals, but not much else.

"Derek got hurt trying to protect me," Scott said immediately, which was the most generous way that the situation could be put but he knew it would be necessary. Sheriff Stilinski didn't hold any kind of ill will against Derek Hale that he knew of, but Scott had tried to plan and negotiate with Derek before. It would be best to start things as well as possible.

The Sheriff stepped forward and squatted down to look Derek in the eyes.

"Did Harry McCall do this to you?" he turned to look at Melissa, "I can press charges on this, though I'm a little confused why he's on your couch instead of at the hospital, Melissa."

Melissa froze, still so unfamiliar and unsure of how to deal with this new world her son was a part of. It was one thing to clock a psychotic murderer over the head for harming your son and quite another to try and deal with the idea of werewolves and an alpha pack and her ex-husband's lycanthropy like it was all sane and rational things that were a part of real life. Scott stepped in, moving to quite literally stand beside his mother as he put his hand on her arm.

"Because he can't go to a normal hospital. And I'm sorry, Mr. Stilinski, but you're not going to be able to handle this on your own. Like, legally and everything."

Stiles moved to go to his father, opened his mouth to answer something because he knew how not-well his dad would take that, but the sheriff was up and heading for Scott before he could.

"The hell I can't, Scott. I don't know what he said to you--"

"He didn't say anything, Mr. Stilinski!" Scott answered, his voice going up in pitch just a little. Panic. "It's just more complicated. Just... lemme explain."

But the sheriff was already done with this, shaking his head and heading for the door. He didn't get far, however, before a clawed hand landed on his arm and pulled him back. Caught, the sheriff turned to look at Scott and nearly tripped in shock as the face on his son's best friend had changed so drastically.

There was dark, coarse hair down the sides of his face and sharp teeth too large for the mouth they were in slipped out from between his lips. Longer ears, a slopped forehead, and an almost muzzle-like nose were completed with a pair of burning golden eyes. It was at once Scott and not-Scott and he would have startled away if the supernatural grip on his arm wasn't as implacable as a manacle. Shaking, his eyes jumped from the creature to Melissa, who stood behind her son. She looked almost as disturbed as he was, but one hand was on Scott's shoulder and her head was up. A quick glance around the room held a few interested expressions but no one was upset or looked nearly as freaked out as he felt. Last, he looked to his son, who simply appeared tired as he walked up behind his father and gave his shoulders a comforting pat.

"Don't worry. It stops being scary as hell sometime after the first of never," Stiles told him before his son's hand reached down to the clawed grip that was holding him. As if it was nothing, Stiles picked up Scott's hand and lifted it away from his father's arm. A second later, the sheriff watched as the hair receded, the bones shifted, and the eyes dimmed until he was once again staring at his son's best friend. Scott's shoulders hunched up immediately.

"Sorry, Mr. Stilinski. I just... you had to understand."

The sheriff stepped back and away from his son to look at the two teenagers, then took in the room at large. As he did, a few things started to come together. He pointed at Scott... and then he pointed at Peter, who gave a fluttering little wave until Melissa's frown withered his cheer. Then at Derek, and Isaac, and finally at Deaton.

"You knew."

Deaton nodded plainly, not particularly interested in hiding his knowledge. As soon as it was confirmed, he looked to Melissa, who waved a hand in the negative.

"Oh no, I had no idea until a couple of weeks ago. And I'm only finding out a lot of it now." Which he could see she felt somewhat guilty for. He took that in and forced himself to get past the urge to just grab his son and drive away, from all of this, from this town, so that he could think. Unfortunately, he didn't like the results.

"So... Harry's--"

"A werewolf," Melissa said plainly, glancing around at the assembled pack of them in her very living room, "yes. He is. Derek's wound there is from claws, not a knife."

The sheriff nodded and seemed to settle a little on his feet, his body unconsciously moving closer to his son and one arm wrapping around the boy's shoulders. Stiles seemed to understand, though, as he leaned into it and nodded along. Realizing that the tension had gone down a little, Derek finally spoke.

"He's not the only one. There's a group of them with him, alphas, the most powerful of our kind. They're here and they're looking for something."

"Well, do we know what it is?" the sheriff asked immediately, the next words on his lips freezing as he looked from Melissa to Scott and back. Scott. That wasn't the whole of it, he could tell, but Scott was somewhere in that equation. Which meant that bargaining was not on the table. His eyes turned back to Derek, who shook his head.

"No. They didn't tell me much of anything. McCall and a couple of the others roughed me up but he only asked about Scott."

"I see," the sheriff answered, turning to look at his son. The scratch on his cheek had almost entirely healed up at this point, but the mark was still there. The second Stiles felt his father's gaze land on it, he turned to try and hide it, which gave him the answers to all of his suspicions. A look around the room, at a half dozen somewhat guilty faces, said that this wasn't the first time at least some of them had dealt with extremely deadly problems like this. And not always to great success. 

He focused on one, though.

"So where do you fit in all this?" the sheriff finally the man across the room from him.

Deaton looked at the assembled group and, the decision obviously holding some weight, agreed to answer the question with a nod. Peter and Derek sat up a little at that, their attention glued to the veterinarian.

"That... is a very interesting question. And I suppose it's time I answered it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on that! I've finally got things set out a little so this story should wrap up soon. Then onto the next one!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you, someothermonstra for the once over on this chapter!

"Hell yeah, it is," Stiles agreed immediately, which earned him a withering glance from his father. He threw up his arms in exasperation. "No, Dad, you have no idea how long he's been playing the cryptic helper card."

Derek looked up from the ground and nodded in agreement as his eyes met the veterinarian's. "I'd also like to know. Especially how you knew my mother."

Deaton glanced around for a moment, taking in the expectant looks and the tension of the moment, before leaning against the counter and taking a sip of his coffee.

"It's really not as... what's a good word? Exciting? As you're probably thinking."

"I'm thinking you're a witch. O-or a warlock or something. A Watcher?" came from Stiles immediately and Derek shot him a look which said that if he didn't shut up and let the man explain soon, he was going to get off the couch and MAKE him. Stiles, as per usual, blithely ignored it. "Buffy or Highlander? Either'd be pretty useful right now."

The good doctor shook his head and allowed himself a faint smile.

"Nothing so... organized. I'm... well, when it comes to my skills, I'm... something of an alchemist. When it comes to my field of study, the best term for it would probably be... cryptobiologist."

Scott voiced the question just about everyone was thinking.

"What are-- can you explain?"

"Certainly," Deaton answered calmly, "though as I said, it's... not terribly exciting. I'm a researcher, independent" and he spared a glance at Stiles "who generally focuses on creatures and substances that modern science has either never been involved in, or tossed aside in their pursuit for credibility."

"A werewolf scientist," Scott said thoughtfully, considering the implications. It had been pretty easy to just think of werewolves and everything they'd encountered as things that happened, horrifying, terrible things that you tried to push out of your mind as soon as the ordeal was over, but it made sense that there were people who actually studied these things and tried to figure out how they worked. How else would anyone know what different kinds of wolfsbane did what? How would they know that silver was useless? It wasn't as if the creatures themselves would be so helpful. Especially if they were trying to kill you at the time. As he'd learned from the start of his descent into this world, knowledge was most definitely power.

"Precisely. The field on the whole is larger, but my particular focus is werewolves, as you might have guessed."

He looked to Derek now, meeting the younger man's eyes and keeping his voice soft and low.

"I knew your mother because we were working with each other on some research, specifically a solution to a growing problem in the werewolf population."

It was Derek's turn to look intrigued, but Isaac voiced the question.

"A problem? What, like... like a plague or something?"

Melissa immediately started forward, looking like she wanted to volunteer immediately to help, but Deaton shook his head firmly and she settled a little.

"Nothing that... blatant. Though just as problematic. And just as much of a threat to the continued existence of the species."

All of the wolves looked shaken at that. Scott's head tilted, though, as he glanced over at his boss.

"Well, if it's not an illness or anything, how could it threaten the whole species? I mean, the only other thing that kills werewolves is Hunters and Hunters are human. You can't find something that hurts Hunters without hurting innocent people."

Deaton shook his head and gave Scott a faint, proud smile. Scott knew that one as the one he was rewarded with when he figured out how to do something complicated or solved a difficult situation at the clinic.

"It does have to do with Hunters, but not in the way you're thinking."

"The Alpha problem."

Everyone turned to look at Peter, who'd been very quiet as they'd all discussed matters up until then. So quiet that he'd been largely ignored. But unlike before, his expression was deadly serious and he even looked a little pale. Derek looked between Peter and Deaton; something in his eyes said he was starting to wonder about the fact that apparently there was a lot going on that he wasn't aware of in his own species. It was a disconcerting thought given that he'd been born and raised a werewolf.

Deaton nodded.

"Exactly that. Talia and Richard were trying to see if they could solve the Alpha problem."

"What is the Alpha problem, exactly?"

Deaton opened his mouth to explain, but Peter held up a hand. Surprised, but willing to let him explain, Deaton nodded and bowed his head in acquiescence. Peter stood and leaned against the side of the couch.

"Werewolves come in three types, for those of you just joining us," which earned him a grimace from the sheriff and a flat glare from Melissa that made him wince. Nonetheless, he continued.

"There are Omegas, lone wolves who for whatever reason exist without a pack. They are generally weak, usually somewhat unhinged" Derek looked to Scott who rolled his eyes at Derek and gestured emphatically to Peter "and largely inconsequential. Then there are Betas, your basic werewolf as you've seen, such as Scott here, Isaac, and myself. Then there is the Alpha, the leader of the pack. Who, for the moment, is my nephew, Derek."

Derek looked up at his uncle and gave a red-eyed growl.

"Is that a threat?"

Peter sighed and shook his head.

"I don't make threats," he informed his nephew tiredly, "I'm about to explain. Anyway, the Alpha has a few abilities beyond that of us lowly Beta wolves. For one, their bite can create more werewolves."

"Like you did to my son," which came with a harsh glare from Melissa. Peter swallowed and nodded.

"Yes. It's how we add to a pack. The pack gives an Alpha his power, makes him stronger."

"Which is why Derek went around turning people into werewolves a few weeks ago," Scott said with a very similar flat look at Derek. Derek shook it off, but he wouldn't meet Scott's eyes. Noticing the exchange, the sheriff couldn't keep silent anymore.

"People... what people? WHICH people? I've got quite a number of missing persons and more than a few dead bodies that I still have to account for, so if there's answers--"

Isaac raised his hand at that.

"Me. He... bit me."

Melissa looked a little startled at that as she'd assumed all the 'kids' had been bitten by Peter. Scott wasn't going to let certain things go unsaid, though.

"And Vernon Boyd. And Erica Reyes." He focused on Derek pointedly, making sure the older man was clear that he was still not happy about how Derek had gone about things, and he was surprised to see Derek go pale. He found out why when he turned around to look at his mother.

"You... bit... Erica? Erica Reyes. You... you made her into one of you people, into a werewolf? Why?" Melissa ate up the space between her and Derek almost too fast until she was standing in front of him, confusion and anger warring on her features.

Derek looked up, defensive.

"I cured her," he said curtly.

"You took her away from her family," Melissa snapped, pain in her words, "do you know how many phonecalls I've had to answer from her mother? Her father? They don't know where their little girl is. Do you?"

He leaned back, unprepared and unsure of how to answer before finally letting out a huff and shaking his head.

"No, I don't. She and Boyd ran off-"

The sheriff, who'd stayed out of things since it'd looked like Melissa had them well in hand, breathed out roughly and rubbed his hand through his hair. "Great. A pair of kids out on their own."

Derek winced as he continued "-supposedly to join the pack they heard in the area." 

Melissa went white. "The Alpha pack. The pack Harold's in. The one we're all afraid is here to kill us--"

"Correction!" Peter noted, raising a finger, though he shrunk in on himself a little when Melissa turned her anger on him, "I... don't think they're here to kill us. On the contrary, they're probably here for... doctor, would you care to finish the explanation before the beautiful lady rips my head off?"

Melissa turned her eyes to Derek, then Peter, and finally let out a growl of her own before heading back to stand beside her son.

Deaton let everyone settle into a relatively unhappy low murmur before he continued.

"As... Peter was saying, Alpha's are the only ones who can produce more werewolves... and that's true in more than one way. They can bite a human being and make them into a werewolf, but it's also been found that werewolf packs that lose their Alpha have much lower rates of lycanthropy in the children born to the pack members. There's a few hypotheses as to why, but no one's quite sure. The result itself is documented, though."

The doctor looked from Peter to Derek and finally to Scott.

"The problem is, at this time, there's only one known way to 'make' an Alpha."

Peter gestured to Derek and then to himself.

"Namely by killing the previous Alpha."

The adults in the room other than Deaton looked from Peter to Derek and back. The sheriff was the first to speak. 

"So you..."

"Died, yes."

"And you're alive now how?"

Peter smiled, but his smile dimmed as he glanced at Melissa.

"Trade secret," he answered, looking towards Scott and Stiles as if to beg that they leave it at that. Scott looked like he had no intention of doing anything of the like but Stiles put his hand on his shoulder and whispered to him.

"Come on, man. Let's hear the end and then you can watch your mom rip him up for winning the Asshole Olympics."

Scott didn't look happy about it, but he was willing to listen to the rest... except once he stepped back to think about it, it all suddenly made sense. He stepped forward, lifting a finger as the ideas started to fit together.

"I get it now," he said, practically vibrating as he looked around at all of them. Derek stared at him blankly and Isaac looked deeply intrigued. Peter just smiled proudly, as if he'd expected this while Deaton nodded.

"It's a doomed cycle. If you can only get an Alpha when another Alpha dies, you can never have more Alphas. You might even lose some betas if the challengers lose and the Alpha feels like being a dickwad."

He shot a look at Derek there.

Stiles, the epiphany bright on his own features, picked it up from there. "So with the Hunters and everything, the population can never actually grow to make up for the losses, especially accounting for just, like, natural causes sometimes. An Alpha makes too many betas and he'll get the attention of the Hunters, so he can't make too many. He makes too few and there's the chance that the whole pack gets wiped out and oh look, an Alpha gets 'lost' from the population." He ran his hands back and forth over his buzzcut in excitement.

Derek, however, was focused on something else.

"And my parents?"

That made everyone pause. Deaton stood a little straighter.

"I should think that was obvious, Derek.

"They were trying to figure out how to make an Alpha without bloodshed. They were hoping, with two Alpha parents... that you or your sister would become an Alpha when you came to maturity."


End file.
